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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24329746">you are the anchor that holds me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome'>dollsome</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Broadchurch</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:02:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24329746</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollsome/pseuds/dollsome</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Ellie has to bring Fred in to work with her last-minute, and Alec Hardy is surprisingly helpful.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alec Hardy/Ellie Miller</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>259</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you are the anchor that holds me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the prompt "Hardy 'n Miller + books" for milkshakemicrowave over on Tumblr. I meant for this one to be shorter than yesterday's Broadchurch fic, so naturally it wound up even longer! :) I JUST LOVE THEM A LOT.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em> And to this day </em> <em><br/></em> <em> When everything breaks </em><br/><em> You are the anchor that holds me </em><br/>-Stars, “My Favourite Book”</p><p> </p><p>One summer, out of nowhere, Fred becomes an absolute little madman for books. You’d think not being able to read yet would put a damper on his enthusiasm; nope, not a bit.</p><p>He starts pulling books off the shelves at home and demanding to have them read to him on the spot, everything from <em> Middlemarch </em> to <em> Mary Berry’s Complete Cookbook </em> to a dusty travel guide about New Zealand. (It was a trip they’d idly planned for ages and never taken. She always thinks she’s gotten rid of every trace of him, and always manages to unearth something else.) A lack of illustrations doesn’t seem to cow Fred, though he likes the ones with the pictures best. He begs to go to the library and the bookshop constantly. Once he’s entered the hallowed realm of the children’s section, his eyes get huge, and he pulls books off the shelf with a reckless hunger that leaves Ellie on a permanent apology tour to all of Broadchurch’s librarians and bookshop clerks.</p><p>So when she has to bring him into work on one particularly chaotic shitfest of a day, at least she knows he’s got something to keep him occupied.</p><p>“I know, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says as she bursts into the station, Fred’s hand in hers and an overflowing tote bag of books over her shoulder. The corners of the picture books keep stabbing her in the side through the canvas. “The sitter fell through last minute and it’s Tom’s first day at his summer job and it’s not like my dad’s in any shape to watch kids in the home, and I’ve got a person of interest to question as of, oh, two minutes ago--”</p><p>“You can leave him with us,” Katie says, her eyes shining in that particular way of childless and slightly terrified young women confronted with a front row seat to motherhood.</p><p>Like hell is Ellie leaving her kid with that look. “No, no, that’s all right.”</p><p>“Can we read?” Fred asks.</p><p>“Not right now, sweetheart; I told you, Mum’s got something very important to do.”</p><p>“Then what’d we bring all the books for?”</p><p>“You can read them here, I just can’t do it with you.”</p><p>“I’ll read them with Alec,” Fred says decisively, seeing Hardy come over.</p><p>Oh, is she in for it from Mr. Grumpy. “He’s busy too, love. He’s got to come with me--”</p><p>“I can stay with him,” Hardy interrupts.</p><p>Ellie looks up at him, baffled. “But--”</p><p>“I trust you. It’s your case. You’ll be able to focus better if you know he’s in good hands, yeah?”</p><p>It’s a tempting offer. Still, for her dignity’s sake, she says, “I really can’t. I’m late as is--”</p><p>“You’re not, actually. I changed the alarm on your mobile to ten minutes earlier.”</p><p>“You hacked my phone?”</p><p>“I helped you avert a crisis. You’re welcome.”</p><p>“God, that is so <em> freakish</em>! If I didn’t have a million things already trying to do my head in, you’d be in so much danger right now--”</p><p>“I’ve got him. He’ll be fine, Miller,” Hardy assures her, accusations of freakishness sliding right off him, the maddening prick. “Go on. Get it done. Hiya, Fred. What’ve you got here?”</p><p>“Books,” Fred reports proudly, while Ellie takes a moment to switch into DS Miller mode and out of Wallop DI Hardy mode.</p><p>“That whole entire bag is books?” Hardy says. “That can’t be right.”</p><p>Fred takes that as a challenge, and proceeds to dump all the books out onto the floor.</p><p>“You made your mum carry all that?” Hardy asks.</p><p>“It’s okay because she’s very strong.”</p><p>“Ah, right. I knew that, actually.”</p><p>Ellie gives him a thankful look; he urges her along with a little wave, and she goes. It <em> is </em>a relief to leave Fred with someone she trusts implicitly. Her head feels clearer already. Damn it, it’s irritating when he’s right.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>When she comes back later, she’s tired, but the good kind of tired that comes from feeling like you’re onto something. She’s brimming with things to tell Hardy about the case, to the point where she’s temporarily forgotten the babysitter fiasco. Then she gets to his office; the door’s ajar, and she sees him sitting behind his desk with Fred, a book open in front of them on the flat surface.</p><p>“<em>One day when he was walking </em> -- out walking, sorry, <em> he came to an open place in the middle of the forest, and in the middle of this place was a large oak-tree, and, from the top of the tree, there came a loud buzzing noise. Winnie-the-Pooh sat down at the foot of the tree, put his head between his paws and began to think. </em>”</p><p>Fred points at the page. “What’s that word?”</p><p>“Between.”</p><p>“Between,” Fred repeats, nodding like he’d suspected it all along.</p><p>Hardy lets out a little snort of a laugh, then goes on. “<em>First of all he said to himself: ‘That buzzing-noise means something. You don’t get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something…’ </em>”</p><p>They look so perfectly cozy and calm. For a moment, she’s watching with a stranger’s eyes, and they could be any father and son, happy to spend time together.</p><p>She presses a hand to her mouth, covering the ugly sobs that suddenly seize her. Even after all this time, it hurts like drinking poison, like being stabbed. That instant switch from normal aliveness to agony.</p><p>At least she escapes before they spot her. She sits in a stall in the ladies’ and cries for a half hour. No one comes in, thank God, so she can wail all she likes and pound a fist on the stall door and there’s nobody to ask her if she’s okay, which she’s not, which she’ll never entirely be. Then she shifts to the breathing techniques her therapist taught her, so she can feel like she’s at least tried to be an emotionally responsible adult who’s coping instead of raging.</p><p>When she goes back, feeling better in a shaky, underwhelming way that reminds her of the relief after vomiting, she finds Hardy sitting in his desk chair with a snoozing Fred. He’s staring down at him with a sort of quiet terror, like he doesn’t want to wake a carnivorous animal.</p><p>“Still all in one piece, I see,” she says quietly, putting on a smile.</p><p>He looks up at her. “Just about. Might be missing a few fingers. You know. Papercuts.” He nods to the array of books on his desk.</p><p>“Tell me about it. He’s unstoppable. Yesterday he brought me Bleak House from God-knows-where and asked me to read it to him. I made it through three pages and he listened along the whole time like he was completely invested.”</p><p>“You’ve got a wee literary genius on your hands.”</p><p>“I don’t know where it’s come from. Tom was always more into sport and video games. And trucks. We had a real trucks phase.” She thinks of Joe sitting on the floor with an impossibly small Tom, pushing toy trucks around and making silly faces.</p><p>“With Daisy, it was koala bears,” Hardy says.</p><p>It’s still not like him to offer up personal details like this. She wonders if he saw the memory on her face and decided to take pity on her.  “Koala bears. That’s specific.”</p><p>“I know. She was mental for them. Koala stuffies everywhere. More books than you’d think could possibly exist about them. Tess ordered her a koala birthday cake once. The bakery cocked up and made a panda cake; total chaos.”</p><p>“That’s brutal,” Ellie says, and manages a laugh.</p><p>He considers her from behind his glasses. Stupid glasses, always making him look extra incisive. She really doesn’t want to be found out right now. </p><p>“You all right?” he asks.</p><p>“Mmhmm,” she replies with a smile, nodding a few too many times.</p><p>He doesn’t push it. Instead, he says, “Good work today, Miller.”</p><p>“That’s right,” she says, “I haven’t even told you about--”</p><p>“Tell me later,” he interrupts gently. “Come by mine when you can, we’ll talk then. You’d best get this one home now.”</p><p>“I don’t know,” she teases, the world turning a little lighter -- as it always does -- at the prospect of torturing him. “I thought I’d leave him with you, seeing as you look so comfortable.”</p><p>He rolls his eyes at her, and she laughs easier as she reaches for her son. “Come on, you. Time for us to get home.” Fred makes a sleepy noise of assent. She lifts him up, feeling like Wonder Woman. (God, but they get heavy fast.) Then it occurs to her: “Oh, shit. The books.”</p><p>“I’ll pack them up and drop them by later.”</p><p>“You sure?”</p><p>“What else have I got to do?”</p><p>“Neglect your physical and mental well-being in the pursuit of justice?”</p><p>“That’ll keep ‘til tomorrow.”</p><p>She grins at him, appreciation bubbling over. “You’re a prince.”</p><p>His entire face furrows in distaste.</p><p>“Yeah, I didn’t like it as soon as I heard it,” she agrees, frowning.</p><p>He lets out a little sigh that should connote annoyance but doesn’t, somehow. (She’s gotten good at reading his surly noises.) “Goodnight, Miller.”</p><p>“Goodnight, sir,” she says automatically, and wonders why she hadn’t got used to calling him something less Eliza Doolittle. It’s so not reflective of the relationship they’ve actually got. But it’s nice, too. Familiar and automatic, a little ritual that’s theirs.</p><p>“And--” She’s surprised to hear him keep talking. He clears his throat. “If you ever need anyone to help you carry those loads of books home from the library or the shop ...”</p><p>“Thanks,” Ellie says, to spare him. He’s stood by her beyond what she could’ve possibly imagined when they first met, and seems to understand that the pain she carries doesn’t age even after nearly everyone else has begun to forget. But there’s only so much she can ask of him, and Alec Hardy lugging books around town for her fatherless son is officially crossing the line.</p><p>And then, as if he’s a mind reader:</p><p>“I mean it.”</p><p>He says it softly, and only once her back is turned, but not softly enough to make her wonder if she’s made it up.</p><p>She bites her lip. Now she’s going to spend all night trying not to dwell on the fact that the closest thing she’s got to a life partner -- the closest thing she’s ever had, maybe -- is Alec bloody Hardy.</p><p>“I know,” she says without looking back. She doesn’t trust what her face might do. Instead, she leaves him be.</p><p> </p><p>+</p><p> </p><p>When he drops by that night, he gives Fred the bag of books -- they get passed over to Mum right away, of course, like most heavy burdens -- and then casually hands over a well-loved, old-looking copy of something else.</p><p>“Read this one before?” Hardy asks. He doesn’t ever crouch down to talk to Fred, but stares seriously at him like he’s a fellow adult; something about that always tickles her.</p><p>Fred examines the book, drinking in the details of the cover, tracing his little fingers over the title’s letters. Finally, investigation complete, he shakes his head. Then he asks Ellie, “What’s it say?”</p><p>“The Wind in the Willows.”</p><p>“The Wind in the Willows,” Fred says wonderingly. “Nope. Thanks, Alec!”</p><p>He speeds into the house with it, keen to share his new treasure with his big brother.</p><p>Ellie leans against the doorframe. “That looked properly old. Is it valuable?”</p><p>“One of mine when I was a kid. It’s probably an early edition--”</p><p>“Fred!” Ellie barks after her son, alarmed.</p><p>“Don’t fret about it,” Hardy orders. “I used to read it to Daisy. She never liked it as much as I did, though. It’s just been collecting dust for years.”</p><p>“I can’t guarantee he won’t pull the pages out.”</p><p>“It’s his to destroy.”</p><p>This bloody man.</p><p>“You’re exhausting, you know that?” she tells him. “You hacked into my mobile--”</p><p>“It was unlocked,” he protests. “You’d just given it to me to look something up. If anything, I took a minor detour--”</p><p>“--and I can’t even be mad at you because you’ve spent all day entertaining my son and then brought him a priceless gift.”</p><p>He cocks his head to one side, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Would you like me to apologize?”</p><p>“Definitely.”</p><p>“My apologies, Miller.”</p><p>She smiles. “Accepted. Hey, come in, we’ve ordered takeaway and I got way too much. Give Daisy a call, she can walk over too.”</p><p>“Daisy’s out with friends tonight, so it’d be just me.”</p><p>“Oh, well, invitation rescinded, then.”</p><p>She waits for him to fight her on getting too friendly, their established dance, but instead he only contemplates it for a minute. “Yeah, all right.” Belatedly, he adds, “We can talk about the case.”</p><p>“Workaholic,” she jibes affectionately.</p><p>He scoffs. “Like you aren’t dying to do the same.”</p><p>“Not ‘til I’ve eaten, I’m not.”</p><p>A small, glowing happiness fills her as he walks past her into the house. The heavy bag of books slung over her shoulder is suddenly feather-light. She decides to leave that feeling unexamined for now, and follows gladly after him.</p>
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